We Can Be As Big As Dinosaurs
by Drowning.Octopus
Summary: Jughead has a secret and he's never told anyone. Betty's always been hung up on Archie, so when she tries to break ties with him, maybe it'll be time for Jughead to finally spill his guts--among other things. Incomplete
1. Pterodactyl Food and Puppy Chow

**It's summer. Did you know that? It is. Therefore, longest chapter in the worrlllldd. This isn't a continuation of OPH&PB, but it'll kind of follow along the same themes, since I'm not a very creative writer like that. Review immediamente please, you know I love it.**

**Disclaimer: Archie comics belongs to someone else entirely, but I think you should start a petition for me, please and thank you.  
**

* * *

He had heard them say that when you're smiling, the whole world smiles with you--but this was especially true for her. She had always had an uncanny knack for making others smile. All she had to do was point her blue eyes at the subject in distress, and his or her frown would fade away into a grin of genuine happiness. Yes, there was just something about her that made everyone else a little bit more comfortable. Her smile was contagious, her laugh was infectious, her eyes were stupefying. Seeing her smile was like tickling a baby. It was just completely heart-warming.

Seeing her cry, on the other hand...

Currently she pounded the pavement down with her converse sneakers, head down and hands in the pockets of her denim shorts. Her fluffy, oversized, blue sweater was dotted with the pockmarks of angry tears, and she wiped them bitterly away with her soaked sleeves. She mumbled to herself and kicked a lone pinecone with the tip of her toe over and over again, sending it flying and then catching up with it repeatedly. She paid no attention to her surroundings until a loud yelp sounded from a few feet in front of her.

"Hey!"

She continued walking, hands in her pockets, averting her eyes and abandoning her quest for that blasted pinecone, instead doubling her pace to pass by anyone that might be near.

"_Hey!_ Hey, Betty!" She inhaled sharply, stopping dead in her tracks but refusing to look up. Fingers wrapped around her upper arm and she dabbed at her nose with her sleeve before meeting the eyes of her attacker. "You know that pinecone hit me right in the--hey, what's wrong?" She sighed angrily.

"Nothing's wrong, Juggie."

"Don't lie to me, what's wrong?"

Betty crossed her arms, the too-large sweater draping over them like water. She adjusted the hem so that it rose above her shorts, and she scratched at her bare thigh with carefully manicured nails. "I told you, I'm fine." Jughead pressed one hand to his hip thoughtfully, using the other to lift a vanilla soft-serve to his mouth. There was silence for a moment as Betty stared at his plain black loafers. Her eyes drifted upwards and she realized that he was wearing them with argyle socks, black skinny jeans, and a red sweater with a geometric print on it. She smiled in spite of herself.

"Would you care for a lick?" Jughead asked quietly, clearly attempting to break the silence.

"What are you dressed up for?" she answered, ignoring the question.

"Why are you crying?"

"Where did you get those shoes?"

"Who made you sad?"

"Is that really your sweater?"

Jughead raised both eyebrows and blinked his eyes a few times. "I can play this game all day, Betty," he said plainly. The corners of her mouth turned up in a sweet little smirk of amusement, and Jughead raised the ice cream to her mouth again.

"Jughead, I don't want any ice c--"

"It will make you feel better," he interrupted seriously. She stared skeptically at him for a moment before darting her tongue out to touch the cone. Jughead grinned and she couldn't help but laugh. "Didn't I tell you? See, I know stuff."

"Yeah, okay, you know how to make me smile. But you still don't know pre-calculus or physics or Spanish."

"Betty, you know I'm an English and History person," Jughead replied, scrunching his face up into a pout. She laughed again, and this time she ended with a shuddering sigh, rubbing once again at her eyes. Jughead expelled a quick puff of breath and shoved his ice cream cone into her hand, and before she could object he had taken hold of her head with both hands and was pressing the pads of his thumbs to her eyelids.

"What are you doing?" she asked in surprise, attempting to swat his hands away.

"Shush, I am healing you," he answered mysteriously, holding her firmly.

"You are such a strange boy." A moment passed and he released her with a grin, leaving her to cross her arms and take another lick of his ice cream.

"Was it Veronica?"

"What?" Betty asked, caught off guard. She looked away a little too quickly and tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

"I mean, was it her and Archie?" Betty just stared at him in silence, knees pressing together involuntarily. She inhaled and looked away again, biting her lower lip. "You don't really have to tell me if you don't want to..."

At this, Betty's eyes brimmed with tears again and she fought to keep control, squeezing her arms hard and shuffling her feet in embarrassment, tiny coughs and sharp sobs spilling freely out of her throat.

"Betty," Jughead began, clasping his hands behind his back awkwardly. "I didn't mean to make you cry! I'm sorry!" Her hands flew to her face and her mouth opened in a lopsided O, teeth bared in an inherent gesture of unrestrained grief. She hiccupped loudly and cried out, slurring and skewing her words into nonsense.

"I done - know - wat - to - doooo, Juuuggg!" She inhaled and exhaled sharply, like a second-grader throwing a tantrum. "I jus - I jus wan him to - love - meeeee!" She finished by throwing her head back and screaming the last few words, making Jughead blush and raise a finger to his mouth, left arm wrapping around her almost automatically.

"Shh, Betty, it's going to be okay!"

"Don't lie to me, Jughead!" she yelled. "I'm not stupid, I know he won't ever love me! Not when he has Ronnie!"

"Betty, you have to be quiet, people are staring at you!" He pressed his right hand to her lower abdomen to quell her sobs, bending his back slightly to shield her from the other pedestrians on the sidewalk. A middle-aged woman with bleached hair and a disapproving glare passed by Jughead with a bag full of groceries and he screamed, "Hey, lady! Keep walking! Shit like this happens every day, mind your own business!" Betty paid him no heed and continued to cry, growing louder with every minute.

"Why is she so perfect, Jughead? Why can't I be perfect like she is? Why aren't I pretty?"

"Betty, don't say that, you're pretty! You're pretty, you're gorgeous! Don't say that!" he blurted, glancing around to catch anyone who might potentially be watching this embarrassing exchange.

"I am not! I'm not pretty, and I'm not rich, and I'm not good at anything like Ronnie--"

"Betty! You are the prettiest girl I know, and Ronnie's a spoiled brat, and you can beat her at anything in the world--"

"Except I can't beat her in this, Juggie! How come she has a million boyfriends and I can't even keep one? How come she's got everything and I've got nothing? Juggie, how come I never have anything I want?"

"Betty, you have me! Right? We're friends! Right? Okay, see! There. I won't ever be friends with Ronnie! I don't even like her!"

Betty lowered her hands and stared angrily into his eyes. "You can't say that! Veronica is my very best friend!" Jughead rolled his eyes and snorted.

"Since when?" Betty stared straight ahead, hands resting on her cheeks, deep in thought. Then she gave one more shuddering sigh and let her hands drop down to her hips.

"I don't know."

"Why do you call her your best friend when she always does this stuff to you?" Jughead asked, embarrassedly retracting his right hand from her lower stomach.

"I don't know! I guess...I guess because I always have," Betty muttered, wiping her nose with her sleeve again. Jughead rolled his eyes.

"That doesn't sound like a very good reason to me," he replied, using his left arm to rub her shoulder comfortingly. She smiled.

"You're right, you know? I don't think Ronnie is my best friend."

"There you go! That's one problem solved. At least now it's not your number one who's hurting you anymore."

The two seventeen-year-olds stood awkwardly in the middle of the sidewalk, back turned to the street from when Jughead was trying to hide her from passersby, facing a shop window featuring seductively-posed mannequins in lingerie. Jughead blushed again and used his left arm, still anchored around Betty's shoulders, to steer her away from the window. She laughed.

* * *

"I really don't think I want to talk about it, Jug," Betty said stubbornly for the fifth time.

"Betty, if you don't talk about it, how do you think it's ever going to get better?" He stirred his milkshake with a dull silver spoon, the handle chipped and scratched from thousands of uses. She watched him and shrugged her shoulders.

"Maybe I don't want it to get better." Jughead stared at her. "I mean, I really want Archie to like me. I've been wanting it for a really long time. And maybe, if I just keep at it, maybe he'll see how--"

"No, Bets," he interrupted, putting the spoon in his mouth and shaking his head. "He won't see. Think of Archie like a blind, retarded puppy. And think of Veronica as this primo puppy chow. That puppy only knows that he's hungry, since he's retarded. And all he's going to do, forever and ever, is look for his puppy chow. No matter what you do, he's going to keep looking for it. Does that make sense?"

Betty frowned at him. "Okay so Veronica's top-notch puppy chow. What does that make me?" Jughead, caught off guard, bought himself more time by swallowing spoonful after spoonful of chocolate malted until he was finally struck with the perfect metaphor.

"You, Betty," he began, smirking to himself, "are pterodactyl food."

She raised her eyebrows disbelievingly. "I am pterodactyl food."

"Yes, you are."

"Would you care to explain that one?" she asked, grinning with half-lidded eyes and resting her chin on her hands.

"See, blind retarded puppies can't see pterodactyl food because all they want is puppy food. So they pass by it without ever knowing it's there." Betty's smile faded considerably. "But have you ever seen pterodactyl food?" he asked.

"No, I can't say that I have," Betty answered, smile recharged.

"Oh, that's rather depressing. Well, take it from me! Pterodactyl food is the most amazing substance known to man. It's enormous! Each pebble of it is the size of my head. And pterodactyls eat a lot of it, you know, so there's always around a hundred pebbles. It's really colorful. Each pebble is this indescribable color, somewhere between red-orange and purple, and they're constantly changing in the sun, so sometimes they're navy blue sapphire and other times they're light gold and they shimmer like diamonds. They taste like strawberries and mangoes, if they were a million times sweeter, and when you eat them the red-orange-purple juice dribbles down your chin like watermelon but it never stains. And they smell like Jesus-fruit air freshener. And they're as smooth as the smoothest rock at the beach. And when you touch them, your fingers leave a mark that ripples out like when you drop something into that lake that we go to in the summertime."

"Jughead--" Betty began, in a stupor.

"I'm not finished, I'm not finished!" he retaliated, using his hands to gesture now. "And see, pterodactyl food only attracts one thing: not retarded blind puppies, but _pterodactyls_! And you know what a pterodactyl is, I'm sure! It's a massive dinosaur with an unbelievable wingspan, and they come in all different shapes and scientists think that they're this ugly grey and green color, but they were really blue! With yellow polka dots! Or sometimes, they were orange with zebra stripes! Pterodactyls sing this song that's a lot prettier than that one that humpback whales sing, and they only sing it when they're near pterodactyl food. And pterodactyls love this food more than anything in the entire world. And they would do anything to get it, and some of them spend their whole lives searching for it. But, do you know what Betty? Have you ever seen a pterodactyl?"

She stared at him in silence, a tiny smile playing around her lips. She shook her head slightly.

"That's because they are very, very, very, very rare. And some people say they're extinct. And that they don't even exist anymore. But those people are wrong, Betty! They exist! But the thing is, sometimes when you put the pterodactyl food out, it takes a long time for a pterodactyl to actually find it, because there are so few of them that the closest one may be thousands of miles away. But, Betty, the pterodactyls would do _anything_ for even one pebble of this food, so they _will _find it. Do you get it?"

She said nothing but continued to stare at him, that tiny smile unchanged.

"Betty, a pterodactyl is coming for you right now. But if you move, if you go around chasing one of those stupid fucking blind puppies looking for that stupid fucking puppy chow, (and trust me, there are a million blind puppies in this world and just as much puppy chow,) but if you go chasing a puppy, Betty, the pterodactyl will have a much harder time finding you since you keep on moving."

Betty blinked her eyes a couple of times, not saying anything, and Jughead came out of his story-telling zone and realized the impact of everything that he had just said, and his ears went hot and he had to look away, taking another spoonful of his shake and pressing the cold spoon handle to the tip of his nose.

"You are amazing, Jughead," she said finally, laughing a little. "Do you know that? You are one of the most amazing people I've ever met in my life." Jughead smiled but continued to look down at his chocolate shake, just a tiny bit mortified. "Thank--You're--You're...I don't even know. You're just. Amazing." She took hold of one of his hands and used the other to move his glass out of the way, leaning over the table to press her lips against his left cheek, then his right one, and finally to the tip of his nose. She gave his hand a squeeze and stood up, exiting the booth and then leaving the restaurant. She waved to him as she passed by the huge glass window and he waved back, watching her figure retreat until it was too small to watch anymore. He breathed out and leaned his elbow against the table, pressing his wrist against the center of his forehead, letting the chocolate drip off the spoon and back into the glass.

_That was close._


	2. A Blue and Geometric Sweater

**Chapter Two, it is here! You will love it, or you will not complain to me about how you don't love it. Either way is fine with me. One review? You guys are pathetic! I'll send krakens to your houses!**

**Disclaimer: Archie Comics belongs to my third cousin's dogwalker's limo driver's paperboy's grandson. Maybe.  
**

* * *

"Hey, Betty!" Jughead called out again, waving his arms up and down to catch her attention. She didn't turn around and instead merely stared at the iron gates in front of her. He jogged up the street to stand beside her and looked from her stone-cold expression to the stone-cold gate and back again. "What are you doing?" he asked, slightly above a whisper. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest and her legs were locked together. The sudden temperature drop, quite the usual for Riverdale, was something she seemed to be trying to ignore. Her nose and cheeks were flushed and her breath came out in little visible puffs. After their brief meeting at the Chocklit Shoppe, Jug had retreated to his house and fed his dog, then stopped by Dilton's garage for a soda and a stimulating conversation, and then wandered the city for no apparent reason other than mulling over the day's events. He had been wearing his warm, woolen geometric sweater all day and had barely noticed that the bright sunny morning had transformed into an exceedingly foggy afternoon. Betty's denim shorts were obviously not helping her retain body heat. (Though they were helping him retain his.) He said her name again, this time choosing to carefully place his hand on the center of her back. She jumped.

"Oh, hi, Juggie," she said quietly.

"What are you doing?" he repeated.

"Oh, you know..." she answered. He stayed quiet and waited for her to finish. "Just...waiting."

"Waiting for Archie?" Jug asked bitterly.

"Maybe," she replied, tilting her head to one side.

"Why?"

"I tried to come in. I rang the buzzer and everything. I mean, I thought he might be here. And I walked up and Smithers said, 'Miss Veronica is not taking any guests at the moment.' Just like that. And then as I was leaving, not a minute later, ol' Arch comes running up the drive and straight into the house. And he barely said two words to me. And Smithers steps aside and bows to him just as if he was Mr. Lodge himself." She said all this in a monotone, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed like an angry little soldier. "So, I'm waiting."

"To confront Veronica?"

"...To confront Archie."

"Betty, what are you even going to say to him?"

"I'm going to say, 'Oh, Arch, I saw you going into Veronica's house today just as I was leaving, and I called out to you and you didn't respond, and it really hurt my feelings and made me feel like I am invisible. Do you understand that? Why do you always do this to me?' And then I'm going to give concrete examples of all the times he's made me feel this way, like just two nights ago when he stood me up to bring that girl Vicki to see the movie I've been waiting to see." It was obvious she had been planning all of this for a while.

"How long have you been standing here?" Jughead asked after a moment.

"I'm not sure. What time is it?" Jughead glanced at the enormous and artfully decorated clock directly to his right, embedded into the stone pillars that housed Veronica's buzz-calling mechanism.

"It's four."

"Four hours."

"That's about the time you left the Chocklitt Shoppe."

"I know, Jug."

"You came here right after that?"

"Yeah."

"You mean, you left me at the Chocklitt Shoppe to go find Archie at Veronica's house?"

She looked away from the iron gates for the first time since he had walked up, and she looked at him with such hurt in her eyes that he felt guilty staring back into them. "Well, when you say it like that, it makes me sound like a horrible person." Jughead didn't say anything, and instead turned to face the iron gates that she was now paying no attention to. "Jug, do you think I'm a horrible person?" He still didn't say anything. "Do you hate me?"

"No, Betty, of course I don't hate you," Jughead sighed, "I just wish you weren't so hung up on this guy." The truth was, Jughead was so pained by the fact that Betty had left him to find Archie that he could have curled into a ball and died at her feet. And he was seriously considering it.

"He's not just 'this guy,' Juggie, he's _the guy_. He's the only one in the world for me and I...I think I love him."

"He's not yours, Betty."

"Why did you say that?"

"Because he doesn't love you."

"I think--"

"Didn't you listen to me at all back there?" Jughead asked, straining his voice to appear patient. "Archie can't even see you, Betty. He doesn't care about you." As if to illustrate his point, at this very moment the enormous doors to Veronica's enormous estate opened and Betty's head whipped back towards it so fast that it made her dainty little blonde ponytail a weapon of mass destruction. No one exited except Smithers. He walked stiffly to the edge of the pillared porch and pressed his finger to the wall, then entered the house again. Both teenagers stared at the closing doors in confusion until, seconds later, a massive section of rock wall at the side of the house lifted up to reveal a crimson sports car. Sitting in the passenger's seat was a crimson-haired young man, and in the driver's seat a certain smirking debutante with bug-eyed sunglasses and a scarf over her head like Audrey Hepburn. The gates opened and they sped out, and as they did Betty jumped up and down, hands balled into fists at her sides, stomping her feet in frustration and desperation. Archie acknowledged neither she nor Jughead, but as Veronica pulled away she wiggled her manicured fingers at them like the legs of a poisonous spider.

As the car sped off Betty stared, then flopped onto the floor exhausted, the stress of four hours of standing and two minutes of jumping finally hitting her tiny body. Angry tears dotted the cement in front of her and she panted like a dog with rabies. Jughead sat down next to her as the creaking gate finally shut with a clang, and he sighed openly, removing his crown to rub at his mop of black hair.

"Jughead," she started, voice surprisingly even and controlled.

"Er, yeah?" he prompted, replacing his hat hastily as if he had been caught doing something indecent.

"I don't think he cares about me," she answered.

He wrapped his arms around her, entangling her in a tight, comforting hug, and said nothing--instead allowing her to cry herself out completely onto his geometric sweater.

* * *

"Here, take this," Jughead urged, pulling his sweater up over his head. Underneath he wore an embarrassingly tight white t-shirt with a picture of a hot dog on it. She shook her head furiously.

"No, Jug, I'm fine." He held his arm out to her, hitting her with the sleeves playfully.

"Take it, it's all wet with your bodily fluids anyways." Betty blinked twice and then grinned, putting his sweater on on top of her own fluffy blue one. Jughead laughed as she thrust her arms out in a modelesque way. "You look silly," he said. And she did: The fluffy blue sweater, about a million sizes too large, hung over the collar of his sweater, spilled out of his sleeves, and draped listlessly underneath the bottom hem.

"I don't care," she answered. "I have no one to impress." Jughead frowned. Once again she had unwittingly reduced his ego to a puddle of nothingness with just her choice of words.

"What about me?"

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry," she said genuinely. "I hadn't realized that I am supposed to look absolutely beautiful at all times to impress the only person whose house I can show up to in my pajamas at three in the morning, who I can eat messy chocolate milkshakes with, and who I can cry in front of every day. Next time I come over to watch monster movies late Saturday night, I'll be sure to wear red lipstick and brush my hair a hundred times on each side."

They both laughed loudly, stopping in the middle of the street to regain composure. "No, you don't have to do that. But I think I would rather enjoy the red lipstick."

"What, do you find that attractive?"

"Actually, I do."

"Then I'll be sure to wear some tomorrow," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Yes, I would like that," he answered, grinning wolfishly at her.

"You are disgusting," she giggled, smacking him with one of the sleeves dangling at her side. They laughed again, this time finding themselves unable to stop for at least three minutes. Without warning, Betty threw her arms around him and drew him into a bear hug, pressing her face into his chest and making him slightly uncomfortable. When they were standing this close, it was clear that he was at least a head taller than her, and he smiled at the realization.

"Jughead," Betty began after another minute or two. "I can't let go."

"I know, Betty. I am irresistable," he replied, grinning to himself.

"No, Jug, I mean I really can't!" she exclaimed, throwing her head back and looking directly up to meet his eyes. "I'm stuck!"

"Stuck?" he repeated, twisting himself around in an attempt to see behind himself.

"My sweater is stuck in your belt, Jug!" she howled, positively screaming with laughter. Jughead panicked, reaching up to fumble with his belt. "It's all twisted up! What are we going to do?"

* * *

Jughead's ears burned and he knew that his cheeks were the color of ripe tomatoes as he walked down the street, Betty's arms encircling his waist and her body pressed flush against his back. He had somehow managed to twist himself fully around so that he could walk normally, but she hung off him as if she had been tied around him like a cheap cardigan.

"Where are we going?" she giggled. She was finding this whole situation completely hilarious, and he was finding it completely mortifying, considering the fact that people on the street stared at them as if they were insane.

"Pop's," Jughead answered simply, turning sharply left. Betty shrieked and fell to her knees, dragging Jughead down on top of her. She made that noise that people make when they're hurt, the one where you suck air in through your teeth, and Jughead, alarmed, tried his best to face her. "Are you okay?!" he asked urgently.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," she answered. The two of them struggled to get up and made it into the Chocklitt Shoppe with hardly any more setbacks.

Pop laughed so hard that he alarmed all his customers, all of whom began laughing as well until the entire restaurant was a veritable house of mirth.

"Yeah, of course I can help you," he snickered, wiping a stray tear from his eyes. "Here, come behind the counter." Pop extracted a pair of scissors the size of Jughead's arm, and he panicked again.

"No, Pop! Don't cut through the sweater!" he demanded. "Here, my belt! Cut my belt!"

Pop shrugged and obliged, slicing through the belt like butter. It fell to the floor and Betty's arms squeezed him one last time before she let go, wiggling her arms from the shoulder to the elbow and the elbow to the wrist.

"That's much better," she said with a grin. Jug turned around to smile at her and his heart leapt into his throat as he realized that she was bleeding. A lot. Thick red syrup stained her porcelain legs and the scratches on her knees and upper thighs were red and raw.

"Betty!" was all he could say, pointing at the area below the hem of her shorts in horror.

"What? Oh, Juggie, I'm fine!" she assured, flapping her sleeves at him for emphasis. He took hold of her head with his hands.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! I--I--"

"Jughead, it was not your fault," she laughed, shaking her head and raising one shoulder. "It was my fault!"

"Here, we have to go clean you," he interrupted, taking her by the area where her hand should have been and leading her out of the restaurant.

"You kids have fun!" Pop called after them, waving genially and chuckling like Santa Claus.


	3. WorldRenowned Cereal

**So guess what I got fixed. Hint: my computer. Yes indeedy. I know I said two weeks, and I'm sorry that it was more like two months ): But if it makes you feel any better, I was thinking about you all the entire time. Short chapter.  
**

**I have shout-outs to make.**

**KJS X-OVER, whose reviews never cease to make me happy. And ****AnIeMaE from back at DeviantArt, because I'm not sure what her username is over here at FF. But hello, I'm dedicating this chapter to you two. Feel special. You should.**

**Disclaimer: Archie comics belongs to fat old men. Whatever.**

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Jughead sighed angrily as he rifled through his own cabinet, tossing things onto the floor behind him.

"What are you doing?" Betty called from the couch in a monotone.

"I'm healing you!" he called back, sticking his finger into an unlabeled bottle of something and smelling it. Nope. He tossed it onto the floor, as well.

"You'd better not be making a mess," she warned. "What would your mother say?"

"Is my mother here?"

They continued screaming at each other from different rooms for a minute longer, Jughead fully enthralled in searching the medicine cabinet for...something. He wasn't sure what.

"Hey, Betty? What's 'ibuprofen?'" he yelled.

"Don't touch it," she answered in a normal speaking voice, leaning against the door frame. Jughead jumped, sending the bottle of pills flying through the air and coming to rest on top of the fluffy cushioned toilet seat. "Oh, Jug," she sighed. "Look at this! You've made a perfectly terrible mess!"

"I'll clean it later," he assured her, taking her by the shoulders. He led her to the fluffy toilet seat and forced her down. She gave him a skeptical little smile but she obliged, and he bent down to examine her legs. "Sorry, Betty," he muttered, pressing the tip of one finger to a tiny red cut on her kneecap.

"It's okay, it doesn't even hurt," she assured him as he continued touching various spots. She breathed in sharply.

"It doesn't hurt?" he asked dubiously.

"We-ell, that one kind of hurt," she admitted, digging her fingernails into the fluffy sweater. Jughead's face perked up and he stood with a glint in his eye.

"I know!" he told himself. She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off. "I'll be right back. Don't move," He hopped out of the bathroom and took the stairs to his room three at a time, throwing open his bedroom door excitedly. He moved the sliding closet door and used his hand to shove some stuff out of the way, then found two packages of Band-Aids: one package full of bandages the size of half his pinky, the other filled with bandages the size of his palm. He frowned.

"Jug!" Betty called from the bathroom.

"Don't move!" he repeated, still staring quizzically at the identical boxes. He descended the stairs at a run, reentering the bathroom at light speed.

"I didn't move," she said with a smile, crossing her legs. He nodded in approval and stepped towards her, ripping open one box with his teeth.

"I found Band-Aids!" he announced proudly, spilling them out on the floor in front of her. She groaned. He ripped open the other box and dumped the contents on the floor as well, sifting through them to find one of the littler Band-Aids. He went to work diligently, unwrapping them with precision and applying them to every single one of her cuts, no matter how small. He used the tiny bandages for the tiny cuts and the bigger bandages for the ones that wouldn't fit under the tiny bandages, grunting at her questions like a doctor would. "There, patient, you're finished," he said finally, gallantly bowing to help her off the toilet. She looked down at her legs and burst into loud, eruptive laughter. Jughead was hurt for a moment until he looked down as well. Betty's legs were positively covered in Band-Aids. Like a patchwork quilt, they fit together with no pattern, and she looked like she had been abducted by strange Band-Aid loving aliens.

"Thank you, Jughead," she giggled, tapping her knee with one hand. "It's gorgeous. It really is."

"I do try," he sighed modestly, raising himself to full height and pulling his shoulders back regally. "Of course, I always succeed whenever I try..."

Betty scoffed, turning her head to one side and cocking an eyebrow. "Tell that to my legs!" They laughed again and she exited the bathroom, leaving Jughead with bottles and boxes littering every available surface, strange liquids dripping onto the tile and into the sink. He winced and shut the door. "It really is quite pretty, once you get over how ugly it is," she mused, kicking her feet out with every step.

"You're sure it doesn't hurt?" Jughead asked tentatively. Betty swivelled on her heel to meet his eyes.

"And what if I told you it did? What would you do then?" The two teenagers stared at each other for a moment, Betty's eyes teasing and self-satisfied, Jughead's contemplative. Without warning he grinned and grabbed her around the middle, dancing his fingers over her ribcage and eliciting a sharp squeal from her.

"I would have to _anesthetize_ you!" he answered, tickling her still.

"Stop, Jug! Stop!" she laughed, wriggling in his arms like a baby seal. She fell backwards over an arm of the couch and into a heap on the cushions, arms extended over her head. Her fluffy sweater had bunched up around her waist, taking Jughead's with it and leaving a sizeable amount of skin for him to unwittingly gaze at. Without thinking he bent over her and grabbed the hem, grazing her silky abdomen with the tips of his fingers as he did so, and pulled it down to cover her midsection. His hands lingered on her hips as he realized what he'd just done, and after an eternity he yanked them back as if her skin had somehow burned him. Elbows bent awkwardly in front of his face, he grappled for something to say. Thankfully, though, he found it unnecessary as Betty sat up hastily and leaned forward onto her knees, her cheeks very, very pink.

"S-sorry," he managed finally.

"S'okay," she responded, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"I don't even know why I--It was automatic, y'know?"

"Yeah, sure," Betty answered, nodding enthusiastically. "Um," she continued after a moment.

"Hungry," Jug muttered, placing his hand on the lower part of his stomach. He wasn't.

"Me too," Betty affirmed, standing up from the couch and crossing her fingers together.

"I really am sorry," Jughead said awkwardly, moving slowly towards the kitchen.

"Don't worry about it," she dismissed. "It happens to the best of us." With this, she grinned and stepped directly in front of him, lifting his shirt until it came up above his ribcage. He let out a startled yelp and raised his arms in surprise, and she took advantage of his vulnerability to press her palms into his waist and squeeze. He swatted her hands and elbowed his shirt down embarrassedly, his face bright red. She giggled. "Oh, don't be mad, now, Juggie!" she whined. "We're even!"

"I guess so," Jughead sighed. "You know I'll get you again later, right?" he continued, glancing over his shoulder as he reached into a cabinet. She scrunched up her nose.

"Ha-ha, Jug. We're even. If you get me again, it'll make things _un_even--and then I'll have to get _you _again." He shrugged.

"I suppose that's what that means," he answered innocently. He extracted two bowls along with a cardboard box full of cereal and Betty raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Cereal?" He looked up. "You're feeding me cereal?"

"What?"

"Well, nothing!" Betty replied, throwing her hands up in defense. "It's just that I expected a little more from world renowned connoisseur Forsythe Pendleton Jones, if you know what I mean." Jughead narrowed his eyes.

"'World-renowned?'"

"My world," she giggled, leaning forwards to rest her chin on one hand. He rolled his eyes.

"If we're playing by those rules, then you'd be world-renowned superstar athlete Elizabeth Middle-Name Cooper."

"You know I don't have a middle name," Betty frowned. Jughead looked up from his silverware drawer, tossed a spoon each into the bowls, and pulled out a pair of barbecue tongs. He held them up imperiously and Betty raised an eyebrow at him.

"I dub thee," he began. Betty snickered. "Elizabeth Stinky-face Cooper."

"Hey!"


	4. Couches

**Yes, I know. Please don't hate me. Happy Valentines' Day! They won't let me do a heart symbol or even a less than three in these authors' notes, which is dumb. I heart you anyways.**

**Disclaimer: Archie Comics belongs to a horde of angry beavers**

* * *

"Juggie," Betty sighed, her arms intertwined atop the counter and her knees tucked firmly into the barstool's floral cushion. Jughead glanced at her for a moment, then concentrated his attention back onto the milk that he was currently pouring into her blue dragonfly bowl.

"Yes?" he replied, folding the lip of the carton back in on itself.

"Do you really think my face is stinky?" she inquired, extending her lower lip and fluttering her eyelashes at him in what probably should have been a pity-inducing glance. Jughead made a disgusted face.

"I'm sorry, I was distracted by the smell," he answered, fanning the air with his hand. She leaned sharply backwards and grinned.

"Wow!" She giggled and leaned back into the counter, dipping a finger into his bowl and pulling out a single Froot Loop. He swatted at her.

"Those are mine," he snarled, bending down so that his eyes were level with hers. She made a small noise and then pressed the Froot Loop back into his palm. He smirked. "Thank you."

"So, why is this taking so long?" she asked, spinning herself around on the stool. "Is cereal really that complicated?"

"I'm taking a reasonable amount of time, I think," Jughead replied, frowning slightly as he readjusted the spoon against the side of her bowl. She huffed and snatched the bowl away from him.

"I am hungry," she explained bitterly, shoveling the colorful circles into her mouth. She rested the food on top of her knees, held tightly against her chest, and spooned heaps of cereal towards her face. Jughead grinned.

"You are a monster," he mused, crossing the counter to sit beside her. She guffawed and crossed her eyes at him, scrunching her face up in an attempt to look more sinister. He rolled his eyes and dug his spoon into his own bowl, raising it to his lips contemplatively. Betty set the cereal on the countertop and spun to address him, leaning haughtily on one elbow. He raised his eyebrows at her.

"I like your shirt," she said suddenly, the corners of her mouth curving upwards. She lifted another spoonful to her mouth.

"I like your face," Jughead retorted, making strange guttural sounds as his tongue attempted to maneuver around the Froot Loops and milk in his open mouth. Betty snorted, a bit of milk spraying out from between her lips. Jughead watched amusedly as she flushed a bright shade of pink and slid her fluffy blue sleeve hastily across the wooden surface.

"Please pretend you didn't see that," she said, her arm still making circles across the countertop. He laughed genuinely and brought the rim of the bowl to his mouth before gulping down a substantial amount of milk.

"See what?" he asked innocently. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, a smirk playing across her face.

"You are learning," she observed offhandedly. He laughed again and, before he knew what he was doing, had snaked his hand out to affectionately ruffle her blonde hair. Her nose wrinkled in the most endearing way as she anticipated the action, and he drew his hand back as if she'd unknowingly shocked him. She stared worriedly back at him, her eyes making two perfectly round blue circles in her face. "What?" she asked. He exhaled.

"Your hair is...sharp," he told her lamely, feeling the heat creep up his neck as he registered the stupidity of his excuse. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Yours is black," she teased.

"Yeah, well at least it's not _yellow_," he scoffed, turning to face his food.

"You take that back!" she whined.

"No," Jughead answered, swallowing his last bit of cereal. "Never. No." He stood up, grabbed her empty bowl, and started towards the sink.

"Take it back or else," she prompted dangerously.

"And what does the _or else _mean?" he sneered, eyes half-lidded. He flipped the handle upwards and water began to spill out over the dishes in his hands. "Or else you're going to get your sweater caught in my belt again?" She blinked at him.

"You're not wearing a belt," she said simply. He started to turn towards her, but she was quick-and, with the agility of a small and blonde jungle cat, she was out of her seat and her arms were around his waist and she was yanking.

"H-HEY!" Jughead yelled, doing his best to spin away from the wall. The water sprayed him in the face and he sputtered, dropping the bowls into the sink. He was dimly aware of Betty's tinkling giggles and he wiped at his eyes with his bare arm. "That's not funny," he whimpered. His eyes opened and, as if by magic, he found that his pants were exactly where pants are supposed to be. He looked up. Betty stood, leaning against the countertop with her arms folded across her chest and a very smug smile across her face. "That's not funny," he repeated, pointing towards his jeans.

"I could have," she answered simply, shrugging as she did so.

He rolled his eyes at her. "You're small, you know? I could probably pick you up and throw you out the window if I wanted to." She blinked at him, blank-faced.

"You wouldn't, though," she answered finally, laughing to herself. He shrugged, toweling his hands with the rag beside the sink.

"I might."

She stood with her back to the counter, her palms gripping the edge and her knees pressed together in hesitance. "You couldn't," she squeaked. "I'm-not that small."

"Smaller than I am," he remarked off-handedly, taking a step towards her. She jumped. "And you weigh practically the same as a cotton ball, I know that from experience." She bit her lip apprehensively and pressed herself farther back against the countertop, her sneaker-clad feet bumping into each other as she struggled to find balance. Jughead was rapidly closing the gap between them. He grinned.

"Now, Jughead, think about this for a second-" she began, putting up her hands to stall him.

"Done," he interrupted. The opening was all he needed and he swept his arms underneath hers, hooking them across her back and swinging her over his right shoulder as he did so. She shrieked, her voice shrill and loud as her fists collided with his back.

"Not the window!" she screamed, kicking her messily bandaged legs around in the air behind her. Jughead patted her back to calm her. "Where are you taking me?" she asked. He felt her elbows digging into his back as she rested her chin in her palms. He shivered and tightened his grip around her knees to compensate.

"Here," he answered plainly, and then stopped abruptly. She looked up and he took the opportunity to throw her backwards onto the couch. Her head bounced against the cushions and he laughed at the expression of pure shock on her face. "Next time," he warned, brandishing a finger in her face as he sat beside her, "do not test me." She bared her teeth at him.

"There isn't going to _be _a next time, Forsythe," she answered, kicking at his finger with her shoe, "because I am never speaking to you again." She finished with a huff and crossed her arms, turning her face away from him and shutting her eyes angrily.

His face fell.

"Hey," he began, tickling at her ankle with his pointer finger. She yanked the leg away from him and moved herself up towards the arm of the couch. "_Hey." _He scooted closer to her. She sat up and huffed again, turning to the wall. "Hey," he said again, this time getting up and sitting down so close that his thigh brushed against hers. He leaned in so that his breath was on the side of her face. "Hey." To his delight, she giggled and batted at his arm, grinning as she pushed him away and towards the other side of the couch.

"What?" she demanded.

He beamed at her. "I promise I won't pick you up anymore." She sighed as she returned his smile, then leaned back onto her legs.

"I wasn't mad, stupid," she told him sincerely. "I was only joking."

"I know," he answered, brushing blue lint from the front of his black jeans. "But I'm sorry anyway. You're very easy to lift, you know," he added, judging her face for a reaction. She wrinkled her nose again, and suddenly he felt nauseous. "Don't do that," he said seriously. And then he almost slapped himself. She looked back at him, her blue eyes wide and sparkling.

"What?" she inquired, her voice soft.

"Nothing," he responded hurriedly, his face flushing. He scratched at his shoulder blade and shifted his sitting position.

"O-kay," Betty giggled. She swung her legs over the side of the couch and scooted closer to him, resting her arms in her lap. "But whatever it was, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, you didn't do anything," Jug stammered, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Are you okay?" she asked. Her voice was imploring. Concerned. He scraped his teeth against his bottom lip and willed himself to stop blushing. He knew he was blushing.

"I'm fine. I'm cold," he lied, rubbing at his arms. Her eyes lit up.

"I can help!" she told him brightly. Confused, he opened his mouth to retort. He stopped, however, when she grabbed a fistful of blue sweater and yanked upwards. Underneath, she wore a tight-fitting, long-sleeved black shirt. Plain. And he'd seen her in it before. But somehow, for reasons he couldn't explain, it looked different this time. He buried his face in his hands and she handed both bundled sweaters to him. "Here. Be warm," she explained. He grabbed them without looking at her, and sighed heavily before pulling her baby blue one over his head.

He thanked her and rubbed hopelessly at the side of his face with one hand. She smiled at him and then, after a moment's hesitation, forced herself into his own red sweater.


	5. Seeing Stars

**Oh, long time no see ;)**

_**This chapter is rated M for mature, or T for Teen, or whatever you'd like to call it.**_

**Archie Comics still does not belong to me, but I am working on it. Also I'm whoring myself out for reviews, as usual. So do that, please.**

* * *

"That sweatshirt fits you much better," she said after a moment, her voice plain and low. Jughead grinned but still refused to meet her eyes, for fear of betraying himself. "It suits you," she continued with a laugh, and she ran her left hand up his right arm and gave his shoulder a playful squeeze. He suppressed a shudder even as his eyeballs widened to the size of dinner plates. Unable to stop himself, he whipped his head around to look at her.

The too-loose geometric sweater paired with her sweet grin was just too fucking adorable for him to bear.

He looked away again, sick to his stomach.

There was a pause, and then, "Jughead, are you okay?" Her voice dripped with worry and he felt her moving closer to him.

"Betty, I'm fine," he answered. He inhaled deeply and then turned towards her, willing his face into a smile that he just _knew _came out as a half-grimace. The corner of her mouth lifted in a concerned expression and she scooted even closer to him, burying her face in his chest and engulfing him in her arms. Unsure, he left his hands hovering over the irresistible curve of her back.

"You can talk to me, Pendleton," she murmured. The soft tone of her voice sent a pang of longing straight to his core and he winced with the physical pain of it. His arms encircled her of their own accord.

Archie's girl.

She loved Archie.

She would never love him in the same way.

And so he would sit quietly beside her while she cried at the hands of his very best friend, and he would hold her as she confided her dreams and her fears to him in the middle of the night, and he would nurse this insatiable longing and his stomach would hurt and his head would swim and his eyes would well up with tears at the realization that she could never want him.

She was already in love.

And so was he.

The familiar thoughts resettled him and he drew a shuddering breath, the warmth of her body beautiful against his. Archie's girl. He remembered, now. This was not his place.

Decided, he slapped a cheery smile onto his own face and pulled her away from him, giving her hands a little squeeze. "Bets, let's go out." She blinked.

"..._SIDE_," he added quickly, his voice higher and louder than it should have been.

* * *

The air was still cool as they stepped into the lane, and the color of the sky told Jughead that the sun had just disappeared beneath the horizon. He closed his eyes, filling his lungs with the crisp wind, and heard the crunch of Betty's sneakers on autumn leaves. He opened one eye and found her grinning at him.

"Stop it with the creepy faces," he chided, allowing his eye to slip closed again. He yelped when he felt her hand make sharp contact with his ass, and he brought his hands up to rub at the seat of his pants. "Jesus, Betty!"

"Don't be mean or I'll do it again," she warned, a devilish glint in her eye. He raised his eyebrows as he smirked at her.

"Promise?"

"Shut up," she giggled, falling into step beside him, and he was surprised when she closed her hand around his.

"You're moving too fast for me," he joked, after a minute had passed. "It's not you, it's me." She snorted but didn't answer, and he looked down to share a smile with her. Her gaze was locked dead ahead, and her cheeks were slightly colored as she released his hand. He flexed his fingers, disappointed at the loss.

"Hey, hey, now Cooper!" he began defensively, stilling her with an outstretched arm. "That was a joke. I was kidding. Give me this," and he picked up her arm in order to emphasize the seriousness of his demeanor, furrowing his brow and intertwining his fingers with hers. To his delight, she giggled and squeezed his hand, then allowed it to swing into place between them.

"Oh, good," she answered. "I was worried for a moment."

Jughead scoffed. "Don't ever worry, dummy. We're there." He felt blue eyes on the side of his face.

"Where?" she asked innocently. He met her gaze and felt the familiar creep of hot blood coloring his features.

"We-in our relationship, I mean. We're there. I-it's just, it's okay that you're holding my hand," he explained stupidly, stumbling over his words and lamely gesticulating with his free arm.

"Oh," she said, her nose wrinkling as she pointed her face forwards again. They went quiet and she squeezed him again, causing unwanted butterflies to flutter quickly in his intestines. He quelled them with thoughts of Betty and Archie at the Homecoming Dance. "Let's stop here," she suggested, breaking the silence.

They crossed the street into the grass field just as the last reds of sunset faded into heavy blue and grey. Following her lead, Jughead watched as Betty flopped onto the ground, and then he lay down beside her.

They were silent.

It was a while before he noticed that their hands were still tangled together, and, quite honestly, he wouldn't have noticed at all had she not lifted them off of the grass and brought them to rest on top of her stomach. Suddenly light-headed, Jughead was powerless as she removed her hand from his and danced her fingertips over the back of his wrist and up to his forearm. He lay perfectly still, aching to see how far she would take it, as she raked her nails across his arm. He tried not to shiver, tried to adopt the nonchalance with which she was addressing the situation. Glancing over, he caught her half-lidded eyes lazily observing the first-emerging stars. He breathed deep and blinked. They were friends.

They were a couple of very good friends sitting in comfortable silence under a canopy of stars.

Normal.

He tried to imagine doing this exact same thing with Archie. They'd done it a number of times, actually: slept over in his backyard, gone camping for a weekend, forgotten to return home before the sun set on a game of pick-up baseball.

There just hadn't been any hand-holding or arm-caressing when he'd lay in the grass with Archie. There also hadn't been any sweet sighs or bare legs or smooth skin. There weren't any soft hands pulling at rubberbands to let loose golden hair. Archie hadn't cozied up to Jughead and smiled into his shoulder.

In an effort to keep the normalcy and the comfortable easiness of the friendship he so cherished, Jughead calmed his nerves and asked a generic question.

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm lucky," she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. He stayed quiet until the silence became unbearable. Her fairy fingers played across his skin, tickling idly at the dips in his wrist and in between the gaps of his rougher, squarer, harder fingers.

"I've got parents who love me," she continued, "and a best friend who treats me well, and a boy who means the world to me," Jughead's heart skipped a beat at the idea that _maybe- -_just _maybe- -_"and I've got you," she finished, and he felt her turn her head to face him in the dark.

His found his stomach suddenly full of concrete.

He tried his best to seem unaffected.

"That's..." he responded finally, "...sweet."

She laughed.

"You're great," she answered.

They were silent.

He was trying to see her as nothing more than a friend. He'd been able to coax himself into it so many times before: it was just a matter of forgetting the delicious honey hair, the beautiful blue eyes, the radiant smile, the delicately tiny frame, and the incredibly aggravating feeling of her skin rubbing itself up against his.

He had almost succeeded, too, when- -

"Jughead," she said suddenly. He was alarmed at the apparent urgency in her voice.

"Y- -" he began.

And then before he knew it a heavy weight was pressing his hips and his back into the hard earth. Blinded by the pitch darkness of the sky around him, Jughead's hands flew upwards and made contact with Betty's slim waist. He opened his mouth to call out in surprise, but found himself stunned silent at the sudden rush of adrenaline when her two hands cupped the sides of his face. Straining his eyes, he could just barely make out the outline of her halo of hair against the night. And then he felt her soft lips come into contact with his cheek. And then with the other cheek. And then she pulled back and his entire body was on fire.

Silence.

Silence that lasted forever, permeated by his ragged panting and her even, controlled mouthfuls of air. He knew that she was trying to watch his face. He imagined the furrowed brow, the tiny divot at the bridge of her nose as she knit her eyebrows in concentration. She was waiting for his response.

"...You missed," he said finally.

He heard her laugh ring out in the darkness and felt her thumbs run along his face. His hands gripped tighter on her waist and he willed her closer. Dip in again. His mouth opened slightly, anticipating the touch of hers.

It didn't come.

"Betty," he whispered, his voice hoarse and pleading.

"Jug?" she answered. Her voice, too, was quiet. It was also unreadable. He squirmed slightly underneath her, his legs bending at the knees.

And then her lips were on his and all of his internal organs left his body and joined the clouds. Jesus, her lips were sweet. Like sugar on his tongue, her lips were full and sweet and tingled slightly against his.

And, Jesus fuck, was he hard.

Three chaste kisses was all it took and he was ready to bust in his pants.

He slid his hand down between them to experimentally adjust his denims, and he winced at the friction that he caused. Betty felt the curve of his lips and pulled back slightly.

"What?" she breathed into his mouth.

"No," he urged, wrapping his arms tighter around her and pulling her closer.

"Are you okay?" she asked, balancing herself on her elbows, placed on either side of his head.

"I'm fine, Betty, please," he groaned, his right hand finding the base of her neck. He leaned up to capture her lips and she responded by opening her mouth.

He swore under his breath.

Her tongue was the key to heaven.

And he, having kissed only one girl in his entire lifetime, was overwhelmed by the motions of her tongue and the way it danced against the roof of his mouth and the way her teeth joined in to nibble at his lips and he moaned into her mouth which made her giggle. She was so perfect and he lifted his hips into the air as subtly as possible in order to relieve some of the ache.

He was on fire.

"Betty," he managed to gasp, closing his mouth and interspersing his sentences with quick pecks to her full lips. "Don't do this to me," he whispered haggardly. She responded by wrapping her hands around his neck and lowering herself flush against him. "Don't, Betty, please," he whined, gliding his hand over the small of her back.

"Don't be stupid," she said plainly, and he felt the grin against his mouth as she said it. She lowered her hand over the top of his, still resting on the front of his black jeans, and he saw stars behind closed eyes.


	6. The Dream and the Nightmare

**Pure sex. That's all that this chapter is. Pure, unadulterated sex. Consider this your warning. I have actually been meaning to write this chapter forever and have sat down to write it a million times but I didn't know how to go about writing sixteen hundred words of nothing but sex. Until just now, I guess. So enjoy this sexy chapter and please tell me what you think of it.**

**PS: Skip this chapter if you don't like sex.**

**Disclaimer: Archie Comics belongs to the owners of Archie Comics, who are not me**

* * *

Jughead was absolutely terrified. He lay completely still, one hand white-knuckle-gripping a handful of the sweater at Betty's lower back and the other rigid against the front of his pants. Betty's parted lips were millimeters from his own, her smooth breath tickling his face. Nearly all of Jughead's concentration was centered on the sweet, soft little hand resting just over top of his, her fingers stilled above his own as if time had stopped. Time passed and Jughead's heart hammered frantically in his chest like the pounding of a thousand tiny death metal drummers, and his labored breathing came out in angry, uneven puffs. He was thankful for the darkness, because if Betty had been able to see his crazed eyes darting every which way coupled with the burning of his incredibly blotchy red cheeks, he'd probably have just shit his pants right then and there. And then died in a puddle of his own shit. He was sure she could feel the panic rising at his chest as he waited for her to do something-_anything_-to break the fear that consumed him at the possibility of her feeling his uncontrollable (and incredibly embarrassing) arousal and running off in disgust.

So he lay completely still.

And he waited.

And after an eternity or three, he was almost certain that he could feel her lips curling just above his own. He drew in a sharp breath and held it there.

"What's this, Juggie?" she murmured, lowering her mouth so that her velvet lips brushed against his as she spoke. He blinked wildly, his mouth opening and closing in his desperate search for a response that would not betray his current condition. Dread rising in his chest, he felt Betty's smooth hand sliding against his own, tickling the gaps in his fingertips and-to his chagrin-nudging them out of the way. He exhaled and then rapidly inhaled again, pressing his hand determinedly to his jeans as if to convince her he'd sewn it there that morning and simply forgotten about it. Betty was persistent, however, and somehow she managed to ease her little hand underneath his. When she made contact with the edges of him, even through the rough fabric of his denims, Jughead found himself bucking upwards, his mouth forming an "o" and his eyes screwing shut in surprise. He was immediately self-conscious of his reaction and he screwed his hips into the grass underneath him, resolute in his decision not to let it happen again. He grimaced and attempted to judge her reaction, his heavy sense of shame creeping upwards into his features and manifesting itself as a rude, purple blush.

After a moment of very tense silence, Jughead realized that Betty's bottom lip was caught between her teeth and that the corners of her mouth were turned upwards in a lopsided grin. She made a soft little noise against his lips and his eyes shot open as he cried out in surprise.

"B-Betty?" he stammered, both hands now tangled in the grass beside him.

"Hm?" she answered, unmoving. It was painful, the way that she teased him so unknowingly. He felt the warmth of her hand through his jeans and she had raised her lips just out of reach, so achingly close to his own. Her golden hair tickled his shoulders and her warm breath played at the edges of his nose.

"What are you-"

"Jughead," she interrupted, and he felt her grin again. He waited in agony for her to continue. After a moment, she finished by pressing her lips to his. He moaned into her lips and melted into her touch and suddenly Betty's tongue was on his neck. And so were her teeth. And she was sucking on his skin and he was wiggling underneath her like some kind of newborn giraffe.

"Betty!" he called out.

"Shhhh," she answered, flicking her tongue against the lobe of his ear. He shuddered, absolutely floored with disbelief. He had to be dreaming. This was a dream.

The girl of his dreams doing dreamlike things with him as he lay underneath a dreamy canopy of stars, he was dreaming. There was no other explanation. But the nipping that she was doing at the base of his throat seemed to disagree with this hypothesis so Jughead simply lay completely still and allowed her to do whatever she wanted to him in the pitch darkness.

And the little hand at the front of his pants was now pressing firmly into his arousal and he growled deep in his chest and she giggled in response so his hips came up and she adjusted the angle until he was rubbing deliciously against her. He sighed and accidentally made little, embarrassing noises that he could not stop and that she seemed to like. And, just like that, he made a decision.

He lifted one hand off of the grass and experimentally brushed his first two fingers from the inside of her left knee to the hem of her denim shorts. Betty gasped in surprise and then hummed her approval, purring into his neck and biting softly at his jaw.

Good lord he was dying. He was sure he was dying. He repeated the action with the other hand and the other thigh and then brought both tentative, exploratory hands up to gently cup her round little ass. Betty giggled and pressed kiss after kiss into his lips. He returned them hungrily and then, gritting his teeth and assuring himself of his own manhood, slid one hand forward until it rested on what he assumed had to be her sex. To be honest, he was unsure. Betty, however, responded warmly, and despite his nervousness, he found his own arousal growing as he realized that he was feeding hers as well.

And here he was, lying in the grass with Betty Cooper-the girl he had been in love with since he had known what love was (and probably long before)-rubbing one hand haphazardly against her while she glided hers easily against him. And she was planting soft little kisses against the borders of his mouth and breathing hard and giggling and making noises and being so adorable and so goddamned _fucking_ sexy, and he was probably sounding like a seal with a head cold during feeding time and looking like something very similar to that as he flopped around underneath her and slobbered on her face.

God, he hated himself.

But it felt so _good _and she didn't seem to mind and all he could think about was how long he had waited for this and how in love with her he was and how it was so much more beautiful than he ever could have imagined (even though he'd imagined it at least once a day for the past six years) and how exactly he was going to go about making her fall in love with him, too. And the bubbling fire exploding in his stomach caused his legs to bounce around like Slinkies, knees bending and unbending and toes clenching and unclenching despite his attempts to stop because of his fear of hurting Betty by knocking her off of him and onto the grass.

And when he flipped his hand so that his palm faced upwards towards her navel, she moaned long and loud into his mouth and whispered "Jughead" into his ear, her warm wet tongue snaking out to tickle his sensitive skin. Jesus fuck, he was hard. And he was going to bust in his pants.

He was going to bust in his pants.

Oh god.

No.

Please if there is any good in this world please, Jughead's pants needed to stay clean. He was not about to allow himself to shoot off in his jeans and make his stupid orgasm face that he knew he made because of his six years of making it and his six years of being embarrassed about the way his nose screwed up and his eyes went all tight and his teeth clenched and he made little hissing noises and his hips bucked and his hands went all weird and no. No.

The poetry of Percy Shelley.

That is what he would think about instead.

He recited poetry by Percy Shelley in his head and it was going absolutely swimmingly until he heard the very familiar scraping of metal on metal, and he realized that Betty had succeeded in unbuttoning his pants in a very discreet manner and now was succeeding in unzipping them.

His cock jumped at the realization and smacked against the back of her hand and he made a half-yelping noise that he regretted instantly. Betty giggled again and smiled as she kissed him.

"Is this okay, Juggie?" she asked timidly, pausing as she waited for his response. He stared dumbly at the area where he knew her face to be and then nodded with as much vigor as he could possibly muster. And the muscles in his stomach tightened as she pulled her fluffy blue sweater up out of the way of his boxer shorts and felt her way down his abdomen with a tantalizing butterfly touch.

And then, just as she hooked the tip of her index finger inside the waistband of his striped french fry underwear that he was very grateful she could not see, his very worst nightmare became a reality.

Sprinklers.


	7. Walking Home

**Short little chapter today, dedicated to a user called Malachai Zero. If anyone still reads this story, thank you so much for sticking with me despite the fact that I update only once a year or less! I know that's not fair, I'm sorry. But thank you for your support, it means a lot to me :) Please remember to review if you like it, let me know what you liked if you want to, and have a happy summer!**

**Disclaimer: Archie Comics belongs to Archie Comics Inc**

* * *

Jughead lay in disbelief, his knees pointing towards the sky and his arms spread listlessly out to either side of his torso. Betty shrieked and rolled off of him, and Jughead groaned at the loss. The moment was gone forever. Those five minutes, right there, were the culmination of Jughead's entire life and he knew it. Betty would recover from her temporary insanity, they would never speak of this night again, and she would go on to marry Archie and have little blue-eyed ginger-haired ponytailed babies. It was all downhill from here. He berated himself for his stupidity in encouraging the love of his life to touch him under the light of the stars, and he hated himself for risking their entire friendship and the trust and comfort he had so carefully cultivated all for five minutes of heavenly kisses. Jughead lay as frigid water attacked his face and body in the darkness, and he lay as Betty's girly. unaffected yelps rang out against his ears. Eyes closed in complete incredulity, Jughead laughed humorlessly to himself, shaking his head furiously in a mixture of amusement and despair. He sniffed and felt Betty's little hand knock against his ankle.

"What are you doing, you loser? Get up!" she giggled, and he felt her pull on his leg before snatching up the blue sweater and crawling swiftly away. Friends. They were friends.

Jughead lay, sobbing dryly, and rolled around in the grass, moaning out his frustrations at the utter unfairness of the world so obviously out to get him.

He lay even as he heard Betty's voice repeatedly call, "Juggie!" Finally, he flopped over onto his stomach and sighed once more, face down in grass and mud. "Get up, get up! You're getting soaked, bird brain!" Jughead drew himself up to his feet, being sure to allow his grieving body some extra time in attempting to stand. The moment was gone forever. He dragged his legs as he ambled deflatedly through the sprinklers and towards the girl he loved. She stood on the sidewalk, her hands on her hips and the sweater over her left shoulder, grinning at him in the friendliest of manners.

Betty snickered at him as he stepped into place beside her. "You're drenched," she remarked amusedly. He grimaced in response. "Aren't you freezing?" Jughead shrugged dejectedly, his wet hair flopping around in his face as he did so. He inhaled deeply and waited with a sliver of hope for some kind of hint-a romantic inkling, a spark in her eye, a neon sign reading 'Please make a move because I might one day like you as more than a friend Jughead Jones.' None came. Instead, she scrunched her nose up at him and observed, "You look silly." Jughead had to physically stop himself from crumpling into a heap and weeping at her feet. She giggled, placed her hands on her hips, and continued brightly, "Well, what would you like to do now?"

"Let's just go home, I guess," he answered dully. Betty pursed her lips and nodded thoughtfully.

"I'd give you the sweater, Forsythe, but it's almost as wet as you are," she mused sunnily, gesturing with the fluffy blue fabric as she swept sopping bangs from the apex of her forehead. She ran one hand against his bicep and shoulder, squeezing lightly against the muddy material of his t-shirt. She laughed. "You're soaked to the bone, Jug! We need to get you changed before you freeze and die." Jughead did his best to smile despite the bitterness rapidly consuming him. He could only assume that Archie got this kind of treatment much more frequently than himself. He was suddenly sick to his stomach. And with this horrible, horrible thought, just as he was turning back towards the street, Jughead was stopped by a quick tug from the little manicured fingers he hadn't felt envelop his hand. Betty's eyes were wide and her eyebrows slightly furrowed in an expression of confusion and concern. He smiled painfully and was about to open his mouth, about to quell her worries and stifle that uneasy expression when he realized that she was still tugging. He glanced down at his hand, at the smaller ones wrapped around his, and then back to her face._  
_

Betty smiled, and then, with Jughead's disbelieving eyes expanding into unparalleled enormity, Betty stood up on the tips of her toes and kissed him once on the mouth.

* * *

Jughead was flying. He was sure of it. Right now, he was flying, and if he were to look down he would see the tops of buildings and the tiny pinpricks of car headlights speeding down the backroads of Riverdale city. The only thing counteracting this hypothesis was the soft little hand anchoring him to the girl beside him (who, as far as he could tell, was undoubtedly strolling along a strip of pavement) and the rhythmic slap of heels hitting concrete in unison.

"Betty Cooper," Jughead began, grinning wildly. His companion paused to glance back at him, and he blinked in amazement.

"Yes, Jug?"

"I'm glad we hung out today," he answered simply. She laughed.

"I always like hanging out with you," she told him, shrugging her shoulders. Even her aloofness couldn't bring him down, however, because despite her distance, her hand was still wrapped around his and she was not removing it. So everything was fine. They continued in silence, Jughead whistling quietly to himself, until Betty stopped abruptly, holding her arm out in such a way that Jughead ran full force into it. He apologized profusely as she turned to him. They stood across the street from Jughead's house in near complete darkness. The only streetlamp sat patiently on the edge of the drive. She pressed a finger to her lips and Jughead stared back in silence, noncomprehending. He watched as Betty's teeth scraped along the fullness of her bottom lip, and he watched as the corners of her mouth turned slowly upwards in a mischievous smirk. He continued to stare as Betty's eyes dragged themselves downwards toward his navel, and again as she pulled those eyes back up to meet his. His face went hot in record time.

"What?" he whispered, his ears burning in spite of the frosty evening air surrounding him. Jughead's heart went speeding in his chest. Betty stepped closer, that little smirk pasted onto her lips, and her hand left his to encircle his hip. "Bets-" he stammered, suddenly aware of the heaviness of his arms and of his idiocy in not knowing where exactly to put those arms. He felt her fingers brush against the front of his pants, and he stopped breathing altogether, anticipation filling him to the core.

And she giggled as she tugged his zipper into place, and Jughead's disappointment was indescribable.


	8. The French Fries

**One more, because, why not, really? You deserve it. Thank you for your reviews, suggestions, likes / dislikes, etc. I really appreciate it!**

**Disclaimer: Archie Comics does not belong to me**

* * *

"Mrs. Jones?" Betty called, flinging the front door in towards the hallway. Jughead had been too frazzled to fit the key into the lock, and he hated himself for it. After two minutes of fumbling and mumbled apologies, Betty had simply nudged his hands away from the doorknob, inserted his key, and twisted it open easily.

"Mom?" Jughead echoed. His mother appeared from the direction of the living room, wiping her hands on a dishrag and adjusting the pink-trimmed apron tied around her waist.

"Hello, son!" she answered cheerily. "You're home awfully late." She turned to Betty, a matronly smile instantly spreading itself across her face. "Hello, Betty, dear, I'm afraid we've had dinner already, but the refrigerator is absolutely filled with leftovers. Do help yourself, won't you?" She whipped back around to face her son, brandishing her index finger in front of his nose. "And _you_, you big brute, don't you dare take even a bite until she's finished!" Jughead expelled an angry mouthful of air up towards his hairline, sending chunks of his wet hair flying away from his face. Betty laughed warmly, shuffling her feet on the entryway carpet.

"Thank you, Mrs. Jones!" she called from the foyer. Jughead's mother frowned.

"What are you doing over there, Betty? Come here!" she demanded, speeding towards the girl as Betty's expression changed to one of immediate concern.

"Mom, don't-" Jughead began.

"No, Mrs. Jones, I can't-"

She had enveloped Betty in a massive hug before either of them could stop her. She drew back almost instantly, her expression one of horror and revulsion as the splotchy wetness clung to her shirt. Betty grimaced sheepishly.

"We're-"

"Soaked!" Mrs. Jones cried out. "Upstairs, both of you!" Betty removed her muddy shoes and socks on the carpet and sped off up the stairs, Jughead immediately behind her. His mother stood at the base of the hallway, fists planted firmly on her hips. "Linen closet is at the end of the hall next to Jughead's room—son, you show her where it is—and Betty Cooper, you are absolutely _not _leaving this house until you are perfectly clean! Do you hear me?"

"Mom!" Jughead groaned angrily. Betty grinned.

"Yes, Mrs. Jones!" she called.

"But please do stay the night, dear, we love having you over. In the morning, I'll make your favorite?" she added, raising her arms toward her face to cup her mouth in a goading manner.

"Strawberry pancakes?" the teenagers called in unison.

"And everything else as well! I'll call your mother now, Betty, dear." Jughead sighed as his mother swept off into the kitchen. Betty beamed at him, running her hands over the fluffy, pastel-colored towels in the closet before them.

"So," she began. Jughead watched her from the corner of his eye. "Do you use these pink ones, or these lilac ones?" He whipped around to face her, his mouth open in indignation. Betty held a frilly towel in each hand, her shoulders moving steadily upwards as she giggled madly to herself.

"I'll have _you_ know, Miss Betty Cooper," he retaliated, adopting a furious voice, "that I use only the manliest colored towels, and that I keep these towels in the top shelf of my own personal closet so as not to allow any prissy lady types—such as yourself—any opportunities to spoil them with their frilly girly ladiness." Betty frowned angrily.

"I am not a frilly girly lady."

"Yes you are," Jughead answered, pressing his tongue out between his lips. Betty wrinkled her face up at him and bared her teeth menacingly. "Oh I am so afraid of you," Jughead remarked in a monotone.

"You should be," Betty muttered, extracting a fluffy pink towel from the carefully folded stack in front of her. She closed the closet door and turned to face him, and Jughead fluttered his eyelashes at her. "I get the first shower," she stated simply.

* * *

Jughead pounded on the door, raising his voice to an unbelievable volume in an attempt to drown out the deliberately loud and tuneless "la la la" emanating from the bathroom. "That's not fair," he called. "You aren't even supposed to use my bathroom, it's full of manly stuff and you are going to come out smelling like a man and I'm going to be grossed out and so is everyone else in my house and all of your friends, forever." Betty's purposely defiant singing rose out above his protests, and he grinned as he leaned his forehead against the coolness of the bathroom door. He tried again, becoming even louder this time. "Betty Cooper, you get out of there before I nail this door shut and you have to eat all of the soap and toilet paper just so you don't starve."

"Your door opens from the inside," Betty called out. Jughead's smile widened. "I mean, _la la la la!_"

"Betty, you're using up all the hot water!" Jughead attempted. "You've been in that shower for almost three minutes now, and pretty soon the entire neighborhood is going to be calling and telling me that I've- -"

Jughead was cut off by his entire body's propulsion face first into a cloud of steam as his bathroom door arced forcefully inward. "Finished!" Betty said brightly. He blinked the steam out of his eyes and sucked in a massive amount of hot air as she elbowed past him and into the main area of his bedroom. She tutted. "It really is a mess in here, Forsythe." After she was satisfied with her survey of the tsunami aftermath of Jughead's room, she turned back towards him and smiled, holding her frilly pink towel closed at the front of her chest. It reached just past her mid thigh, and the wave of her soft, wet blonde hair ended just where her towel began.

Now, Jughead had seen Betty in a lot less, and he knew that. Jughead had spent summers at Veronica Lodge's pool and in the Riverdale lake facing a Betty clad in nothing but two tiny strips of fabric, and Jughead had even rubbed sunscreen on his friend's deliciously smooth and naked back every single weekend for many of those summers. But a towel was something different. A towel was something fundamentally different, and he couldn't explain it. He watched as she stepped in bare feet to his closet, and he watched the delicate ripple of the just visible muscles of her legs and torso as she reached up to the topmost shelf. He stood transfixed until he felt the roughness of hard fabric slap against his face.

"Your turn," she instructed. Jughead realized that he was still standing with his knees bent to ninety degrees, hunched over with arms spread from where he had caught himself upon falling into the bathroom. He stood up in record speed in an attempt to compensate, covering his actions with a little cough and the horrible telltale burning of his face.

"Right, yeah, well—" he sputtered, coughing repeatedly as he attempted to control the words spitting themselves out of his mouth. He couldn't stop. He resolved to have himself committed to an asylum first thing in the morning. "Yes, okay, so—t-shirts. You know—"

"I got it," Betty answered, her hand catching the groove of his topmost dresser drawer.

He retrieved the electric blue towel from where it had fallen at his feet and twisted it in his hands. "Okay, and there's some shorts and things—"

"Juggie, I know your room like I know the back of my hand," Betty interrupted, grinning as she turned to face him, her arms crossing themselves in front of her chest. He found himself wide-eyed, willing her towel to fall, and then he caught himself and scurried into the bathroom like the scared cockroach he was.

Jughead slammed the bathroom door and exhaled shakily, resting his forehead against the coolness of the tile. Steam still hung in the air around his head. He breathed it in deeply and flipped the shower on. Cold. He was going to need all the help he could get.

* * *

"That took forever," Betty teased, scrunching her nose at him as soon as he opened the door.

"Will you hand me some clothes, please, Betty?" Jughead pleaded, sticking his outstretched arm from the gap between the wood of the door and the jamb.

"Well, come out and spin for me first!" she commanded. Jughead winced as blood rushed to his face. He had to stop blushing. This was very quickly becoming ridiculous.

"NO."

"Come out and spin or you get nothing."

"What kind of girl do you think I am?" he called back, pressing his face out to glare at her. She shrugged. Betty sat in the center of his king-sized four canopy bed, a much too large red-rimmed white t-shirt covering her from her shoulders to the middle of her upper thighs. A red, block lettered "J" presented itself proudly across her chest. He blinked rapidly as she slid herself off the mattress and towards his dresser, opening drawers and extracting items of clothing as she saw fit. She held out a pink v-neck shirt and Jughead shouted, "That was an accident from the wash! It was white, I swear!" She grinned and tossed it to him, causing him to sigh in dissent. He pulled it over his head and stuck his head back out from the gap in the door. With a nervous jolt he realized she was rifling through his underwear drawer. He grit his teeth.

"How do you feel about these?" Betty giggled, holding up a pair of purple boxer briefs with her two thumbs hooked into the waistband.

"They're too tight!" he protested desperately. "Come on, Bets, something else? Please?"

"Well, we _do_ want to give your butt some breathing room," she murmured thoughtfully, scratching her chin with one hand and searching through the drawer with the other. Jughead laughed in spite of himself. Betty was rummaging through his underwear. "Stop laughing, Forsythe," she bit. "Aha!" Jughead gasped in horror as Betty pulled out a pair of red and white striped french fry carton boxers. He whirled around and stared at the pile of muddy clothes on the floor behind him, the dirty french fry underwear staring back at him from underneath his black skinny jeans. He nervously kicked the boxers underneath the sink. So he had bought two pairs of the same horribly embarrassing underwear. He hadn't known that he could be such an idiot. "These are just _beautiful_," Betty giggled, tossing the underwear at his face. Jughead whined and stamped his feet on the tile, but she shut his drawers and climbed back onto his bed, grinning at him the entire time. He conceded, sighing as he eased the door shut and slipped the identical pair of boxers up to his hips. He laughed again. He couldn't help it. It was all too ridiculous.


End file.
